Herbert's Nightmare
by Petals Open to the Moon
Summary: "He wanted desperately to comfort his child, but the music was so far… He felt that he couldn't reach it, even if he tried." Von Krolock/Herbert. One-shot.


**Wrote this morning, to alleviate some stress. It certainly worked, as I love these two characters dearly. :) **

**Reviews are always welcome. **

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_"You try to give it up _

_It seems to be holding on fast _

_It's hand in your hand, a shadow over you _

_A beggar for soul in your face..." _

_(Poets of the Fall; "Sleep")_

"Tată!"

Johannes von Krolock lifted his head from his book, the pages fluttering idly as he listened intently.

The little voice became a sob. "Tată!"

He blurred from the room, almost catching his foot in the door in his haste. His son's room was only three doors down from the library, which was located on the second floor of his _castel. _It only took a minute to reach his son, if he was distressed at night, but even this minute tormented Johannes. Perhaps the child should sleep in his room?

Until the nightmares abated, at least. And they had come every night for the past month…

He entered his son's room quietly, immediately noting the pitch blackness. His lips tightened. Why had Rhea, his nurse, not lit a candle? She_ knew_ how he feared the dark!

Little Herbert sat up in bed, his face a terrified mask in the darkness. "Is that you, Tată?"

His father sat down beside him, gathering the warm, sweaty little body onto his lap. The child was only five years old. Too young to be suffering so.

"Another dream?" he asked softly.

"Yes," Herbert sobbed. "The-the one with the b-bats, and the mean faces, and…and…"

"Shh…" Johannes pressed him close, his heart aching. He noticed how the boy had sweat right his nightshirt, and his skin was clammy with fear. His white-blond curls stuck to his forehead, with some hanging over his tearful, ice-blue eyes. Eyes that looked _exactly _like his father's. But there was nothing sad or thoughtful about him. He was a beautiful, fairy-child, as pale and irresistible as his mother had been.

Johannes pushed away the thought quickly. That wound was still too new, too raw. He pressed a tender kiss to Herbert's forehead. "Would you like me to sing to you?"

"Yes, please."

His father lit a candle, frowning at the small puddle of wax dripping on the nightstand. _"Mic _Herbert, did Rhea not leave you a candle?"

"It went out…"

"Didn't you call her?"

"I don't know where she is," the boy said fitfully.

"Hush. It's all right… I'll sing to you."

His father wiped his forehead and chest carefully, tucking the kerchief back in his suit pocket. He thought for a moment, exhausted from the work of the day, and late night studying. He wanted desperately to comfort his child, but music was so far… He felt that he couldn't reach it, even if he tried.

It hurt. So much. Three years had gone by: three years of endless spoiling and pampering of his tender, young child. He gave him anything he wished, and yet the boy was always happy and pleasant. Bouncing around from one end of the _castel _to the other, 'til the servants were provoked to laugh at and scold him by turns.

He had done nothing but the best for Herbert, but the past still haunted them. Stealing his son's nights cruelly, and tormenting his father both night _and _day.

Johannes closed his eyes.

Herbert reached up, his tiny fingers tugging his father's long, graying hair. "Song, Tată?"

The music came suddenly, stroking Johannes' aching temples with soft, coaxing fingers. A lullaby his wife had used to sing. Had hoped to sing to her child, when he or she was born.

Von Krolock licked his dry lips, clearing his throat gently:

"_Abua – bua – bua,  
Abua, tucu-l maica,  
Nu te teme tu de zmei,  
I-a goni maica pe ei…"_

_(Abua – bua – bua,  
Abua, your mother will gently kiss you  
Don't be afraid of bad creatures in the forest  
Your mother is forever guarding and protecting you.)_

By the time he sang through the first verse, Herbert was sound asleep, his little brow finally smooth in untroubled thought. Von Krolock held him for several hours, determined to keep the nightmares at bay, if only for one night.

He was woken at four o'clock by Rhea, who appeared quite shaken when she saw her master's anger. He tucked in his son, the words spilling quietly but harshly from his lips.

"You _know _he hates the dark!" he hissed. "Do you want to keep your place here?!"

"I… Please forgive me, your Excellency, but did you not tell me I could visit my mother tonight?"

"I don't recall," he said coldly.

She flinched at his eyes, cold as flint sapphires. "She has pneumonia, your Excellency," she stammered. "I believe I told you, but if you don't remember… oh, I am truly sorry!"

The poor woman lifted her apron, wiping her eyes in true remorse for the young Master's predicament. Johannes softened, feeling chagrined as he realized he _had, _indeed, promised her the night off.

"Come now," he said gruffly. He walked to Rhea, smoothing her shoulder once. "None of that. You are right; I did forget."

She sniffed, gushing with empathy, but he cut her off politely, leaving her with instructions for Herbert until the next morning. He left, catching a glimpse of her leaning over the sleeping child with a look of warm concern and affection.

He sighed gently. Herbert was in good hands. He tried his best, of course, but it always seemed to him that a woman's touch was vital in a child's life.

"Stop," he whispered quietly, blocking out his wife's face. He trudged down the hall, rubbing the bags under his eyes with a weary hand. The _castel _was always so deadly quiet before dawn. He hated it.

_If ever there was an hour for Death… _

Such morbid thoughts continued to plague him, as he entered the library once more. He kept the door open a sliver, in case a fresh tragedy were to burst forth from his son's room.

Pale, grey light shone on the far wall to his right. He needed to sleep. Herbert would be up, fresh and early in several hours, as if nothing had ever happened. He would want his father to play with him, until work and the Count's duties separated them.

Johannes collapsed into the uncomfortable chair by the fireplace, too tired to find his chambers. His eyes closed, and he felt older than he'd ever felt in his life. Were it not for Herbert, he would have ended it all long ago.

Eventually, he slept. But the nightmares were waiting for him. Strange faces, like his son had described. Bats swirling in a mad frenzy, as if trying to get out of… of what? Or were they closing in, instead? Closing over him until he tore out of the horrific mass, wild as an animal, with sticky crimson dripping from his teeth.

The Count woke up sobbing.

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**Romanian/English translations:**

**Tată - "father"**

**Mic - "little"**

**Castel - "castle" **


End file.
